


Loyalty

by thievinghippo



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Brief suicidal thoughts, F/M, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 04:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10678005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thievinghippo/pseuds/thievinghippo
Summary: Quinn didn't believe anything could be more difficult than five years in prison. But freedom turned out to be all that much more harder than he ever imagined.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers for the 5.2 Iokath update!

In the end, Quinn simply doesn’t have enough friends, enough connections, to protect him. He’s given advance warning of the approach, but no offer of hiding or shelter. Once his departure request off of Vaiken Station is denied, he knows there is not much time.

He’s still a proud man, still concerned about appearances. The thought of being taken into custody in a public commotion sickens him. While his skills with a blaster are quite good, no doubt armed soldiers will be part of the escort team. There will be no chance of escape, so he will put up no resistance.

The bridge of the _Fury_ will be his last stand. He wonders what will happen to the ship once he’s gone. For all intensive purposes, this ship is his _home._ It’s where Quinn found a second chance at serving the empire. Where he fell in love with Maevry. Their blood and sweat is written in the walls of this ship and he finds he will miss it more than he expects.

A console alerts him that an override code has been inputted to enter the ship. He waits on the bridge, standing at parade rest. Will they kill him at once? Or perhaps have a farce of a trial before throwing him in prison? Quinn’s not sure which he prefers and then isn’t sure what to do with that knowledge. If today is to be the day of his death, at least he dies showing the galaxy his true loyalty. He did not give up his search for his wife, defying and disobeying every order to the contrary.

The airlock opens and Quinn takes a breath, trying to hear just how many soldiers have come aboard. It sounds like three in heavy armor and one officer. He asks the galaxy to give him one kindness, to spare him the humiliation of being arrested by Lieutenant - no, _Captain,_ now - Pierce. The bloody galaxy at least owes him that much. It’s taken his wife, his parents, his career. Quinn has nothing left to give this galaxy except his life. And knowing the galaxy, that won’t be enough.

“Captain Quinn,” a woman’s voice says. Her insignia says she’s a major, though he does not recognize her at all. “You’re not planning on causing us any trouble, do you?”

“What are the official charges?” Quinn asks, looking at the soldiers. He can’t place any of them and he gives a quick thanks to the universe for sparring him that pain.

She shrugs her shoulders. “You’ll find out. Lorman just wants you in custody. Wish I could tell you more.” There’s a malice in her voice that sets Quinn’s nerves on edge. “Well, actually, I don’t wish that. Deserters during war time deserve nothing.”

The charge stings and he wants to protest, but it’s true. The official orders from Lorman recalling Quinn to Dromund Kaas arrived three days ago. A ridiculous order, one he can’t follow, even if he wants to, thanks to the blockade. Once the seventy-two hours passed, Quinn is officially AWOL.

“You’re lucky Lorman said we couldn’t mess up that pretty face of yours,” the woman says with a sneer. “Otherwise my boys here would show you just what we think of deserters.”

He stares straight ahead, as if following proper protocol might save him. As if there is a proper protocol for this situation. “I will offer no resistance,” Quinn says, raising his chin.

“Well, now you’re just taking all the fun out of this,” the woman says. She looks back over her shoulder at the three soldiers. “Cuff him up.”

Unsurprisingly, the soldiers use far more force than necessary to secure him. One soldier pushes him in the back, barking at him to start walking. As Quinn does, he needs to fight a rising sense of panic. His throat swells as his heart rate elevates far beyond his standard rate of rest. But he will project a sense of calm and of dignity if it kills him. Some day, when Maevry is found, he will tell her of this day. And she will know his conduct would be _exactly_ what she expects of him.

And with that thought, the thought he may never see home again, he is led out of the _Fury._

#

Six years and four days since he last saw his wife.

Quinn begins the first of his daily exercise routines. Laying on his back, knees bent, arms crossed over his chest, he starts a set of twenty-five crunches. His back has been giving him trouble lately, a sure sign he needs to focus more on his core. Crunches are something he hates, but results are results.

On crunch seventeen, he realizes a guard is standing in front of his cell. Quinn stops at once. After five years in prison, he’s memorized all routines: standard week days, weekends, and most holidays. Not a single one of those schedules has a guard in front of his cell at this time of morning. The deviation from his routine unnerves him, so he gets up off of the floor and stands at parade rest.

“Malavai Quinn?” the guard asks. Quinn nods, not recognizing the guard. “You’re to come with me.”

Realization dawns quickly. He can think of only two scenarios. First, they’ve found Maevry, they’ve found his wife. Or the Empire has simply decided to kill him and be done with it. A sense of shame rolls over him as he can’t decide which outcome he prefers.

Quinn stands, tugging at the hem of his standard issue prison tunic. Habits of a lifetime do not disappear simply because one’s circumstances have changed. A step backward and the guard opens his cell door. Another puzzle. Twice a day he is released from his cell and every time, he is ordered to stand at the back and not move. But the door opens and the guard simply says, “Follow me.”

There are no cuffs, no restraints, nothing to bind him as he walks. It’s a simple freedom that’s been denied to him for five years and it’s almost too much to take. He can swing his arms or start hopping on one foot if he wants. But of course, Quinn walks with a military precision, giving no sign of distress.

The Empire killing him no longer seems like the correct hypothesis, which means they’ve discovered Maevry. But is she dead or alive? His steps slow slightly, as if delaying the conversation ahead would keep things as they are. As awful as this life is Quinn now leads, as long as they haven’t found her, that means she isn’t dead.

He’s led into a small room, a room obviously meant for interrogation. Without being asked, Quinn sits at the table, the side facing the observation mirror. Shoulders back, he folds his hands on the table in front of him and waits.

A bored looking woman with dark skin and green eyes wearing an Imperial Uniform enters the room. Her rank insignia tells him she’s a captain, though Quinn is certain he’s never seen the woman before. She sits and looks at the table. Any boredom leaves her face and is quickly replaced with annoyance. “Where the fuck is my caf?” she barks to a guard. “I left it right here. Get me another. Two sweets.”

“Yes, sir,” the guard says at once. He leaves the room with a quick salute.

“Hired help these days,” the woman says with a laugh. Quinn recognizes the interrogation technique immediately. She’s trying to forge a bond with him, make him laugh, get him comfortable. It will not work. She looks at him, clearly expecting a response. When almost a full minute of silence passes, she shrugs her shoulders. “Let’s begin. Name?”

“Malavai Rymar Quinn.”

“Rank?”

The question surprises him. He assumes he’s been dishonorably discharged from the military at this point. “My last rank was captain, first grade,” he says, making sure to keep any emotion from his voice. He will not give his questioner any more information than required.

The women picks up a holopad. “Marital status?”

How it all comes back to his wife in the end. “I am married to Lord Maevry Zorick, once known as the Emperor’s Wrath.”

“When was the last time you were in contact with your wife?” the woman asks, all traces of humor gone from her voice.

He actively needs to keep himself from flinching at her words. The question makes no sense. Is he not imprisoned due to his unwillingness to discontinue his search for Maevry? If they were in contact, this nightmare would be over. Instead, dread fills his stomach, sensing that perhaps the worst part of this nightmare has yet to truly begin.

“More than six years ago, right before we docked with Darth Marr’s flagship,” he says, his voice flat as he stares down at his hands. He will not give this woman and the faceless people behind the observation mirror any clues to his emotional state, not when he’s unsure of the state himself.

“You usually accompanied her wherever she went, didn’t you?” the woman asks. “Why did you stay behind this time?”

“The cartilage in my right knee had torn,” Quinn says, still staring down at his hands. “My medical records will show I had a procedure done three weeks after we made it back to Imperial space.”

The woman tapped her fingers on the table, one at a time, saying nothing. “And in all this time, you’ve not talked to her once?”

“No, sir,” Quinn says. He doesn’t add that he dreams of their reunion daily, wondering what she will think that he ended up in prison as opposed to giving up his search. There are days he thinks she will be pleased, impressed even with his resolve. Then there are the bad days, when he decides she will think him weak for being taken in, for allowing them to take him captive. After five years in prison, most days are bad days now.

“According to our records, since her disappearance, you were trying to convince everyone she was alive and they should be searching for her,” the woman says. “Why do you think that?”

The choice of tense is curious. Do instead of did. Present verses past. Quinn looks up at his interrogator for the first time since the questions began. “Lord Maevry would have found a way off of the ship,” he says with absolute conviction. Even after six years, he does not doubt. “If not, the Eternal Empire would think her too valuable a prisoner of war to execute her on the spot. She is in their custody. I am sure of it.”

He chooses not to add what Jaesa told him, that the young padawan could sense her master still. Most Imperial Officers, himself included, are mindful in accepting testimony from a Force user. While Jaesa’s words gave him comfort then, it would not aide an investigation.

“So you know she’s alive, but you haven’t spoken to her,” the woman says quietly, taking out a holocom. “I’d like you to watch this.”

A holoimage of Maevry appears. Quinn swallows, having not seen her image in more than five years. His memory of her is slightly different. In his head, she’s a little rounder, taller, her eyes wider apart. But the holoimage is _her_ and he stares as intently as he can, not even wanting to blink in fear that the image might disappear.

_The Craven Outlander, who assassinated your immortal emperor, my dear father, has escaped custody and remains at large, aided by a rogue Knight of Zakuul. These deadly agitators were last sighted in the Old World. If you see them, contact an authority figure immediately._

His heart starts beating quickly, his heart all but wanting to sing. Maevry is _alive._ The holoimage of Maevry is replaced by one of Emperor Arcann and Quinn feels his shoulders slump, just slightly. He wonders if he should ask if she might play it again, saying he wasn’t prepared, he missed what was said. But he quickly scolds himself, sure she would see through the pretense and find him weak. If Maevry is truly alive, he cannot appear weak, not in the slightest.

“You sure you want to stick to that story that you haven’t heard from her?” the woman asks with a feigned casualness that Quinn can easily cut through.

“Captain…” He ends the word with a questioning inflection, wanting a name to level the playing field slightly.

Her smile is patronizing, as if she knows exactly what he is trying to do. No doubt she does. All captains are trained in the art of interrogation. “Brodel, if you must know.”

He nods his thanks and leans forward slightly. “Perhaps I am simply elevating my sense of self-importance, but I’d like to believe if I had been in contact with the Emperor’s Wrath, I would not be in here.”

Brodel breaks out in a genuine smile. “Bloody good point. If the Emperor’s Wrath wanted you out, you’d be out. Instead you’re in here while she’s apparently out cavorting around Wild Space.” The words are a slap in the face, he wants to turn away to digest this news, yet Quinn does not move a single muscle. Any reaction he has now will give Brodel power.

She takes out a holocom from her pocket. He recognizes it at once, his own personal comm back from when he was a free man. Holding the holocom between her thumb and forefinger, Brodel says, “We’ve been monitoring your holofrequency for the last five years, standard procedure, I’m sure you understand. It’s been quiet lately. We unsubscribed you from your newsletters plus the few adverts you received on a regular basis. Though I was a bit sad to see _Logistics Weekly_ go. Boring as fuck, but had some really good ideas.”

The bait’s so obvious that Quinn’s easily able to ignore it. The reaction Brodel wants is for him to become indignant, complain that they’ve read his personal messages, but he’s been under the assumption that every message he sent from that comm has been monitored since Lorman first contacted him. So he leans back in his chair and crosses his legs at the knee, waiting for the woman to get to her point.

“But then suddenly, seven messages in one month. Which, as it happens, is right when the Emperor’s Wrath appeared out of nowhere again,” Brodel says. “Then one message a month for the past year.”

It takes every ounce of willpower Quinn has not to rip the holocom out of her hands, to read the messages waiting for him. His wife is alive and contacting him. Contacting him for a year while he wastes away in an Imperial prison. Shame threatens, but he focuses on the messages. She is reaching out to him. To _him._ The knowledge fuels him, helps remove a bit of the taint of the last five years. He desperately wants to know more, but says nothing.

“Of course, these messages are heavily encrypted,” Brodel says with a shrug. “So encrypted that our top slicers haven’t been able to crack them yet.”

That news surprises Quinn a great deal. Maevry has no real technical skills. Someone must have encrypted them for her. She would never be able to accomplish that herself. They never discussed encryption, never had any sort of set system in case they were separated. Stars know Quinn tried, but Maevry always brushed him off, saying they would never be apart to warrant such a response.

How wrong they were.

Brodel tosses him the holocom. Quinn’s reflexes are still sharp, he thinks with sudden pride, and he catches the comm with one hand. “It’s still monitored. If you manage to crack it, we’ll be able to read them.” With a sigh, she stands. “Now follow me.”

His instincts warn him this is a trap. But at the same time, what can they do to him that they haven’t already done? His spirit is so close to breaking that one solid push will cause it to snap. There is nothing to do but follow the woman’s orders. He stands, slipping the holocom in the pocket of his loose prison trousers.

She leads him through a maze of corridors to a small room. A counter holds a basin and a pitcher of water, along with various toiletries. Even a razor to shave. He rubs his chin, feeling the coarse beard he’s worn for five years now. On a bench, Quinn sees a complete Imperial uniform. He tries not to stare at the items, not wanting to give anything away. The uniform is just so… clean.

“Freshen up and get dressed,” Brodel orders. “Knock when you’re done.”

Without another word, Brodel leaves the room. Quinn’s still not completely sure what has changed, who has given the order for his release, if he’s even been released, but he refuses to look a gift bantha in the mouth. Just giving him an opportunity to get out of these dreadful prison clothes is more than he could ask.

He’ll start by cleaning up.

Twenty minutes later, Quinn is done. No mirror is in the room, so he checked his handiwork twice when he shaved. Already he feels a bit of irritation on his cheeks, but that’s to be expected. He feels more like himself than he has in five years and he wants to revel in it.

But no doubt Brodel will be impatient soon. Turning to the uniform, Quinn stops. The insignia is for a major, not a captain. A realization comes to mind. The Empire wants something from him. What will they ask of him to earn this new rank? As he picks up the uniform jacket, he already knows he will not betray his wife’s trust. Never again. If they accuse him of placing his wife above the Empire, so be it. Then that’s what he will need to do.

Once dressed, and his prison uniform kicked in a corner, Quinn raps sharply on the door. It opens at once, and Brodel is standing there, hands behind her back. There’s a smile on her face, one that almost looks genuine. “Welcome back, Major.”

“Captain,” Quinn says in response, straightening his shoulders. A small undeserving part of himself wants to lord over her with his rank. But he will not, not until he knows the price of this new insignia. “I assume you’re to bring me to someone?”

A nod is his only answer and she starts to walk. Quinn follows, his chin raised high. The boots are solid under his feet as opposed to the soft slip-on shoes he’s worn for five years. The jacket is slightly too large, but he assumes that’s because he’s lost weight in prison, despite his best effort to adhere to a strict nutritional diet with a healthy caloric intake. No matter. He’s always been quick to gain weight. A burden when one enjoys indulging in the occasional good meal. A boon if one actually needs to put on pounds.

She leads him to a shuttle with a droid at the driver’s console. “N-2 will take you to Dromund Kaas and then the Citadel, Major. Once you arrive, an officer will be there to escort you the rest of the way.”

Surprisingly, she offers her hand. Quinn hesitates for a moment, suddenly far too aware that he’s gone five years without another person’s touch. But to ignore the gesture will be completely disrespectful. So he reaches out, and tries to ignore the warmth from her palm as they quickly shake hands. “Thank you for your assistance, Captain,” he says.

“And thank you for your cooperation, Major,” Brodel says with a nod. “Have fun on the Citadel.”

Without another word, Quinn steps into the shuttle. Once the car takes off, he desperately searches for a holopad or newsfeed. Something that might give him a clue of what’s happened over the last five years. The Imperial Empire and Republic could have all but fallen and he’d have no idea. Clearly something must have happened if he’s freely able to travel to Dromund Kaas. How had the blockade end? With no newsfeed in site, he starts querying the droid, hoping for some sort of clue. But the droid’s clearly been programmed to navigate and not answer questions.

Certain no answers will be forth coming, Quinn decides to sit back and try to enjoy the ride. The trip to Dromund Kaas is quick, and once inside the planet’s atmosphere, he opens a window and feels the cool air brush against his skin. It’s not that he hasn’t been outside in five years - an hour once a day - but he hasn’t seen the lush jungles or the imposing Kaas City skyline, just the dull, boring concrete walls of the prison exercise yard. His eyes close and tears threaten. Absolutely unacceptable as he is positive the car is being monitored. He will not give anyone anything to use against him.

The journey from prison to the Citadel takes more than three hours, three hours where he sits back and tries to process what he learned. Maevry is alive and in Wild Space. Why has she not come back to the Empire? Why has she not come back to _him?_ A thought appears, that she’s found out he was imprisoned and thus unworthy of her, crosses his mind. His heart aches, wondering how she could ever continued to love a man captured like he was?

The droid quickly lands the shuttle in the private shuttle hangar of the Citadel, a shuttle bay Maevry did not even have permission to use as the Emperor’s Wrath. Quinn expertly hides his surprise as a Moff of all people is there to greet him, warmly, even. “Moff Jaxon,” the man says, extending his hand. Yet again Quinn flusters at the casual touch but keeps it at bay. “You saved my life years ago.”

He’s almost certain he’s never been assigned with anyone named Jaxon. “I did?” he asks.

“I served under Moff Broysc when the bastard was at his worst. You killing him saved a lot of people’s lives, you know,” Jaxon says as they start to walk. “I should have done it myself if I had the nerve.”

“Pleased to be of service,” Quinn says. Funny how Moff Broysc loomed so large in his life for so long, yet he hasn’t given the man a single thought in _years._

Thanks to the shuttle hangar, Quinn is not able to see the enormity of the Citadel, just the entrance. He wonders how it’s changed. Surely the Dark Council will have finally have all the spheres full. That alone will help the Empire a great deal. They enter the main hall and it looks just as he remembers, down to the scurrying of assistants and the swagger of young apprentices.

Quinn tries not to let his gaze linger on the door to Darth Baras’ old office as they pass. But Jaxon sets a quick pace and there’s no time to wallow in his thoughts. He’s brought to the very back of the Citadel, where there is fairly new construction of a lift. The lift is far more guarded than any other entrance, with the Imperial Guard standing watch.

“Oh, before I forget,” Jaxon says as they stop in front of the security line. He reaches into a pocket and brings out a small holopad. “Your identification holos. The pad is yours. Monitored, of course. But it will get you to wherever you need to go.”

The pad is small, light, and will easily fit into Quinn’s back uniform pocket. Bringing up the interface, he finds his Imperial Citizen ID and his military ID. Just like that he is a citizen of the Empire once more. The guard asks to scan the holopad and Quinn is quickly let through the line once he complies.

Once he and Jaxon enter the lift, Quinn finds he must ask questions. Not knowing the state of the Empire, the war, or the bloody galaxy is _killing_ him. “Sir, I would appreciate the chance to ask some questions…”

“No doubt,” Jaxon replies, slapping Quinn on the shoulder, causing him to grit his teeth. Handshakes are one thing, but casual touches, as if his man is his friend will be hard to tolerate. “Soon as we’re up top, I’ll be offering a quick debrief.”

“Thank you, sir,” Quinn says at once, willing the lift to move more quickly.

After what seems an age, the lift stops, and Quinn follows Jaxon to a waiting room. The sheer opulence and luxury in the room astounds him. There are tapestries on the walls along with displays of various Sith artifacts. He tries to decide who on the Dark Council might want an audience with him. Most made no secret of their distaste for Maevry’s role, outside their influence. What could they possibly want from him?

“Caf?” Jaxon asks.

A room like this will not skimp on caf. Anything will be better than the bland caf he’s drank for the last five years. “Please,” Quinn says quietly. “Black.”

“Sit down, wherever you like,” Jaxon says as he pours two cups of caf. “It’ll be hard to pare down five years in five minutes, but I’ll do my best.”

The debrief begins as soon as Jaxon hands Quinn the caf. He takes one sip, but then it sits on a side table, forgotten. He learns that the Dark Council has been dissolved and Darth Acina named Empress. That the Empire surrendered to the Eternal Empire and now must make tribute quotas every month. That his wife leads a group only known as _The Alliance_ and they managed to remove Emperor Arcann from power, only to have his sister Vaylin take his place. But Jaxon does not answer Quinn’s most pressing concern, which is where was his wife for the last six years.

Quinn is desperate to ask questions, to find out how exactly Maevry became leader of such a group. He can already understand why. If what Jaxon is telling him is correct, and that the Imperial Empire is more focused on fighting the Republic than Zakuul, she would absolutely do what she could to fight the true enemy. But he keeps his questions to himself for now. There will be time later to learn more. Hopefully.

He’s being prepped for something, what for, he does not know. But soon they will make the demand, surely. And then Quinn will need to make a choice. If he can help without betraying his wife, he will, absolutely. Since he met Maevry, his goals have not changed: to make the most profound impact on the Empire possible. However…

If the Empire wants him to do something which will cause harm to his wife, even indirectly, he will refuse. Quinn betrayed her once. Never again. If his conscious requires him to refuse the request, then he has a choice. Does he meekly head back to prison? Or does he make an escape attempt where he’ll surely be killed? Is death preferable to prison? Quinn looks down at his Imperial army boots and tries to picture being forced to wear those stars awful slip-on shoes again. To have the highlight of his day be the hour he spends outside.

Bringing the cup of caf to his lips, a certain sort of peace settles over him. After this meeting, he will either be free man or he will be dead. The thought calms him somehow.

“Well, that’s just about everything,” Jaxon says. “I’d say you’re ready to meet the Empress now.”

“Excuse me?” Quinn asks, putting his cup and saucer down on the side table. “Meet the Empress?”

Jaxon smiles before letting out a laugh. “She’s why you’re here, Major.”

Quinn stands, tugging at his uniform jacket, wishing the fit is better. If he survives the encounter with the Empress, he’ll have to have it tailored. “I will endeavor to assist to the best of my ability.”

“Course you will,” Jaxon says. “Follow me.”

He’s led into a private office, larger than the waiting room they just occupied. At a desk made from what looks to be real wood, sits Darth- no Empress Acina. It’s been some time since Maevry worked with the woman and he can see the years across her face. Striking looking woman, though, radiating power.

“Major Malavai Quinn,” Jaxon says, with a sharp bow.

Quinn drops to one knee, his head bowed. “My Empress,” he says, staring down at the floor, waiting for some sort of acknowledgment.

“Major Quinn, so good of you to join us,” Acina says casually, as if Quinn had any sort of choice about this meeting. “Please sit down.”

“Thank you, Empress,” Quinn says, standing up. Funny, meeting the Empress of the Imperial Empire should be the highlight of his life. Ten years ago, it would have been, no question. But now… Now he just wants his wife. _But why would she want you?_ The voice in his head is clear, but he manages to put it aside. For now.

He sits in a plush chair on the other side of Acina’s desk. It’s the most comfortable chair he’s sat on in five years and he needs to fight from letting himself sink back into the soft material. The initial introduction passes, giving Quinn a chance to study his surroundings, as he will not speak again until the Empress does. The office is luxurious, even more so than the waiting room. It’s distasteful, he finds, showing off such material wealth to the galaxy. He and Maevry made the joint decision to live modestly and well within their means, unlike so many other Sith lords. This grandiose attempt at intimidation will not work on him.

“Well, I suppose you must be wondering why you’re here, Major,” Acina says, leaning back in her chair. “I could attempt to build you up or tear you down, but I suspect you will most appreciate honesty above all else.” She drums her fingers across the table, slowly, one at a time. “Simply put, I require your assistance.”

Quinn decides to lean back in his chair as well, crossing his legs at the knee. If the Empress needs his help, it can only be involving one thing: his wife.

The news that she’s alive still hasn’t quite settled with him yet. For years, his hope was the only thing keeping him going. Day after day in prison, all dull and colorless, all the same, tried to grind him down into dust. Only the thought of Maevry, that she still might be out there somewhere, fueled him. _For eternity_ , he wrote her once. How true his words came to be.

“I will endeavor to assist as best I can, Empress,” Quinn says. “I have only wanted to serve the Empire since I was a child, none more so than these past five years.”

It’s clear at once that he’s made a miscalculation, mentioning his prison time, even off-handedly. Her face turns sour. “Unfortunate business, that,” she says, sounding almost grumpy. “I would hope that the Empire would treat it’s assets better than what you’ve gone through. The moment I was told you were in custody, I had them bring you out.”

“My thanks,” Quinn says with a dip of his chin. Any more profound thanks would be undignified.

“Of course,” Acina says. “Perhaps a brief overview of what’s happened over the past year is in order?” Quinn nods, not wanting to appear too eager. “Very well. A year ago, our agents on Zakuul captured the broadcast you were originally shown. We learned then that the former Emperor’s Wrath had been in carbonite all that time. Can you believe the insult? The Emperor’s Wrath in carbonite.”

Five years in carbonite. Quinn blinks, trying to digest this news. Practically a galaxy apart, he and his wife were both imprisoned, in different ways and for very different reasons. Acina’s looking at him expectedly. “Very insulting, Empress,” he says half-heartedly. Why would they not just kill her and be done with it? Why waste the resources keeping her alive? He could ask the same questions about his own situation, but chooses not to.

“After this discovery, we heard rumblings about an Alliance of Imperial and Republic soldiers and citizens. Three months later, we had sleeper agents installed, providing valuable information,” Acina says. “Then you’ve already heard about the change of power in Zakuulan space.”

He’s still not sure what it is she wants with him, and it begins to unnerve him. What could he possibly offer that Acina does not already have? “That’s correct.”

“It shouldn’t be surprising that the people of the Imperial Empire have been emboldened by this. They are starting to demand action against Zakuul instead of the Republic, and frankly, I am beginning to agree with them,” Acina says with a shake of a head. “I miscalculated. I assumed our people would be content to fight against the Republic and then eventually rise up against Zakuul. But I was wrong.”

Leaders such as Acina hardly ever choose to admit mistakes like this, and hearing such an admission puts Quinn quite at unease. Perhaps this is part of the plan. Take whatever it is she wants from him, then kill him. So why would it matter if she says she made an error if he’s dead at the end of the day. Clasping his fingers a bit more tightly, he realizes he only has one wish before he dies, to see Maevry one more time. How he’ll achieve that, he has no idea. But what’s another unfulfilled dream at this point?

“I’m looking to correct that,” Acina says quietly. “And I will need the Alliance’s help to do so.” She stands and Quinn immediately follows suit. He would never remain seated while a Sith stood, the same applies to an Empress. She walks to a window, her fingers brushing the thick, embroidered curtain panels as she looks outside. “I would like to ally the Imperial Empire with the Alliance to defeat Zakuul. However, the commander of the Alliance, your wife, has no reason to forge such a partnership. They are doing remarkably well on their own, with little more than hard work and hope.”

Quinn suddenly understands why Acina has need of him. Not so much him, but his knowledge of Maevry and her ways. He debates what to do. Defeating the Eternal Empire is in the best interest of the Imperial Empire, he’s absolutely certain. An alliance will make both groups stronger. “And you wish to plan how to best approach the Alliance?” Quinn asks, amazed at the calmness in his voice. If a dialog can be reached, he will be able to see his wife once more.

Not that he deserves her in the slightest. First betrayal followed by capture. How else will he be able to let her down? Surely he’ll find another way at some point.

“Exactly,” Acina says, spinning on her heel. “Your particular insight will be invaluable. What can the Imperial Empire do?”

He lowers his head, remembering the last time he studied Maevry’s strengths and weaknesses, when he programmed those damn droids in an attempt to kill her. Of course, that was battle and this is politics, but the end result is the same: kill or be killed. “The Wrath likes to believe that she is independent,” he says, trying not to picture Maevry’s face as he spoke of her. “But she relies on others more than she knows. I do not consider it a defect, but a strategic use of resources.”

Quinn starts to pace, slowly, as his mind works to come up with a plan. “Best to wait for an opening. Watch the Alliance, wait until they need assistance, then swoop in and save the day,” he says. “Prove you’re reliable. Prove that the Imperial Empire is reliable. Do not ask her to trust that you’ll be reliable first. She’s been through too much to believe that without proof.”

Acina’s eyes dart from side to side, clearly thinking. “I like it. What’s more, that is not an impossible task. We already have several agents in the Alliance, some with high clearance. And you think it will work? You’re certain?”

“She traveled with two Imperial officers in her employ, myself and Captain Pierce. It’s how she recruited both of us. We proved our worth before she gave us a berth on her ship,” Quinn says, thinking back to the first time he lay eyes on Maevry on Balmorra. He wanted to impress this new apprentice and waited to call Jillings into his office until he received word that Maevry was on her way.

How long ago that seems now, more than eleven years ago.

Acina walks to the desk while Quinn settles into a parade rest. Picking up a holopad, she says, “I believe that’s Major Pierce now.”

Quinn needs to swallow down the sudden bile. To think that red-headed buffoon has advanced to Major while he’s been in prison for the last five years. But this is below the Empress’ notice. He will not waste her time with his petty complaints. “I’m sure a great deal has changed in the five years I’ve been away, Empress.”

The corners of her mouth turn up in a smile. “Away. How very diplomatic of you,” she says. Her demeanor changes, relaxing slightly. Quinn wonders if this is it. If he’s outlived his usefulness and will now be killed. “See Jaxon. He’s my military liaison and will brief you on what’s next.”

Without another word, the Empress walks out a side door, leaving Quinn alone in the room. His heart is pounding as he tries to sort everything in his head. His wife is alive. He is no longer in prison. The Empress asked _him_ for help. _His wife is alive_ _…_

“There you are, I see the meeting went well,” Jaxon says cheerfully as he enters the office. He heads over to a small conference table on the other side. “Come, we’ve some datawork to complete now that you’re officially part of the team.”

“The team, sir?” Quinn asks as he follows Jaxon to the table.

“Yes, indeed. You’ve officially been named as one of Empress Acina’s military advisers. There are three. Myself, Captain Perrin, and now you. Perrin’s a bit of a night owls. She’s the  unlucky soul who works the night shift in case things go south,” Jaxon says, sitting down. He places a holopad on the table. “You’ll be earning a salary for the rank of Major, Third Grade.” He lowers his voice. “I asked about backpay for these past five years, but couldn’t get them to agree. However, what they have agreed is for you to get paid all the leave you would have earned during that time. Plus, your finances will be taken out of escrow. Best I could do.”

“Thank you,” Quinn says, taking the holopad. “I appreciate any effort on my behalf.”

They discuss particulars, with Quinn only keeping half of his mind on the conversation. He starts thinking if any of this is truly necessary, when he can step on a shuttle and find his way to the Alliance base and to his wife. It’s tempting. So tempting he can almost picture their reunion. If alone, maybe Maevry would run into his arms, kiss him passionately. But if she’s surrounded by others, she would simply smile slowly and wonder just how long it’s been.

But then she would wonder why he never answered any of her messages, and she would discover just how unworthy of her love he truly is.

That’s when the shame hits, knowing he rotted away in prison while she was alive. Quinn tries to refocus, go over everything that Jaxon’s just said, but after five years in prison with little to no mental stimulation, his concentration is woefully lacking. After having to ask Jaxon to repeat himself yet again, the Moff seems to realize Quinn has reached his limit for the day.

“We look forward to working with you,” Jaxon says, standing up. “Take tomorrow off to catch up on the state of the Empire. I’ll have the necessary files sent to your holofrequency.”

“Thank you, sir,” Quinn says, trying to ignore the start of a headache. There’s too much light in this room, far brighter than his quiet prison cell. “I’ll get a good night’s rest and be ready to work.”

They shake hands, and Quinn follows Jaxon out of the room, wondering how long it will take to catch up on five years of news.

#

“And there you have it, sir,” the apartment manager says. “Only officers live here, so you’ll find it quiet. If you find anything lacking from the furnishings, just let us know and we’ll look into it.”

“Thank you,” Quinn says, looking around the small studio apartment which will be his new home. The walls are stark white with dull grey carpet. Furniture which looks like it could be right out of any military office or barracks. It’s comfortable, to be honest. Reminds him of surroundings he had years ago. But Jaxon was kind enough to procure him the dwelling, which saves Quinn time for looking for something himself.

The manager leaves, closing the door behind them and Quinn finds himself alone, truly alone, for the first time in five years. It’s a strange sensation, one he’s not quite sure how to handle. For so long his every move was monitored inside that prison. To be alone, with actual privacy, is a bit overwhelming.

To distract himself, he walks into the small kitchenette, searching the cabinets to see just how fully furnished this apartment is. Already Quinn has his holopad out, ready to make notes on what he will need to procure for himself. But the basics truly do seem to be covered. There are plain white ceramic plates and bowls. Clear drinking glasses. Plenty of cutlery. Even pots and pans should he decide to make a meal for himself.

And then he sees a kettle.

Such a simple thing, the freedom to make a cup of tea for himself. Placing the kettle on the counter, Quinn searches the built-in pantry, pleased at the variety of food he finds. Another gift from Jaxon, having groceries delivered. Somehow, Quinn will have to find a way to thank the man for his thoughtfulness. Then there at the bottom, he sees a box of tea bags. He brings the box up to his nose and inhales deeply, taking in the rich, smoky flavor.

Right, then. Tea.

Once the tea is done, Quinn walks out with his cup onto the small covered balcony. Two chairs wait for him, but he stands, marveling at the simple pleasure of standing and looking outside. At first, he thinks his view is just of the city, but after a little investigation, he realizes that if he stands in the very corner and cranes his neck slightly, he can see the jungle just outside the edge of Kaas City.

It’s raining, of course, when isn’t it raining in this city? But the rain is calming, reminding him of his childhood here in Kaas City before he was packed up and sent to boarding school. Of course, he was raised in a very different part of the city, near the center where most of the city elites dwell. Now he’s on the outskirts, where no one wanting to make a social impression would choose to live. It will do.

For now.

Quinn’s hand reaches into the pocket of his uniform jacket, where his holocom lay. If his calculations are correct, there should be eighteen encrypted messages from Maevry on the comm. He takes a sip of tea before placing the cup on a side table. Bringing the holocom out, he wonders if he will be able to crack the encryption. Like any relationship, they had their own quirks, their own secrets. Surely something would unlock the encryption, allowing him to access the bounty on his comm. But it would also allow the Imperial Army to read those messages as well.

A quick swipe brings up all of the messages. There they are. Eighteen messages from an encrypted source. Another swipe deletes the messages from the comm without leaving a single trace. A sense of freedom settles over him once they’re gone. Tomorrow, he will purchase a burner holocom with an unmarked credit chit. Then he’ll be able to do some digging and find a way to contact her.

He cranes his neck again, taking in the jungle, seeing that the sun is about to set, the first sunset he will witness in five years. Quinn stays on the balcony until the sky turns dark, thinking of Maevry the entire time.


	2. Part Two

The last five years have not been kind to him.

Quinn stares into the full-length mirror, trying to ascertain the flaws and weaknesses he notices without becoming too critical of himself. He’s always been a vain man, there’s no point in denying that. For years, he took pleasure in the way his uniform hung just right on his frame. Or how both men and women would pay him special attention, all thanks to his looks.

But looking into the mirror, wearing a simple t-shirt and pair of boxer shorts, Quinn sees himself for what he’s become. A man who will be forty-nine on his next birthday. A man with far more grey hair than black. A man with no muscle definition and a slight paunch in his stomach. A man not worthy of the former Emperor’s Wrath, and especially not worthy of the Commander of the Alliance.

The hair can easily be fixed. He’s not too proud to use hair dye to change it back to black. On the ground floor of this apartment complex is a fitness facility. An exercise routine will tone tired muscles and help remove any unwanted fat. With hard work, he can find a way to look almost like he used to.

Nothing, though, will change his age.

He was thirty-seven when he first met Maevry, then only twenty-three. The age difference then concerned him, but it’s even worse now. If she was in carbonite, she will only be twenty-nine while he is forty-eight. Why in the galaxy would she ever want him still?

The question taunts him. Quinn steps away from the mirror - but not before noticing the new wrinkles at the corners of his eyes - and walks over the dresser. The clothes were a welcome surprise last night. Another gift from Jaxon. Quinn will have to thank the man, and soon. Perhaps a bottle of brandy or a credit voucher to a restaurant? He adds it to the list he’s been compiling since last night.

He dresses in simple clothes, a pair of black trousers and a grey button down shirt. But the clothes are clean and comfortable, so different than the tunic and trousers he wore in prison. Those always were scratchy and never quite fit right. Compared to his prison uniform, this outfit is the height of luxury itself. Quinn spies a pair of black lace-up shoes, but instead opts to wear his military boots. The red and white trim will be hidden underneath this trousers, and he will be proud to wearing at least a little something from the Army, even if no one but him will even realize it.

Once in the kitchen, Quinn finds himself with an abundance of choice. His evening meal last night consisted of a field ration, as he was too tired for anything else. But he always did prefer a cooked breakfast, at least, he did before prison. He looks through the refrigerator and a sense of panic coils itself deep in his stomach. Five years have passed since he made a decision as simple as what he would like for breakfast. This ridiculous choice is about to break him.

His hands grip the kitchen counter hard enough to turn his knuckles white. If making the decision what to eat for breakfast is too difficult, how in the galaxy will he ever be able to decide how best to approach his wife? If she could see him now, on the verge of a panic attack, all because of _breakfast,_ would she laugh at him? Despise him? Is it even possible for her to despise him as much as he despises himself?

“Oatmeal,” Quinn says suddenly, trying to control his breathing. Oatmeal has always been one of his favorite breakfasts. Simple and sustaining. The oatmeal in the prison was awful; it would have been better not to eat breakfast at all those days. But today, he would like to have oatmeal for breakfast.

He eats his breakfast of oatmeal on the balcony, taking a simple joy in watching the morning commute in the air. Tomorrow he’ll join those commuters, but on public transportation. Today, he’ll simply watch, the morning breeze in his face as he breathes in the slightly muggy air of the city.

It’s the best morning he’s had in a very long time.

The rest of the day is spent out in the city, running errands and enjoying the freedom to go down any street he chooses. In one shop, he purchases a unmarked holocom on a unmarked credit chit. When he’s ready to reach out to his wife, this is the comm he will use. Off the system with no surveillance. He also buys a box of hair dye. Tomorrow will be his first official day as adviser to the Empress. He does want to look his best.

That night, the burner holocom just out of view, Quinn spends on the holonet, catching up with the state of military affairs as best he can. He also does one search for his wife. There is plenty to see. Some in the Empire call her a traitor. Others a hero. Surprisingly, he is able to only find one holo from the last year. A Mandolorian, of all people, posted the holo from celebration after an operation on Darvannis.

He is not proud of how long he stares at the holo. His greedy eyes take in every change, from the difference in armor, to how her shoulders seem slightly weighed down. There is another Mandalorian in the holo. Young, with scars on his cheeks. He hates the man on principle, just because of the simple fact that the Mandalorian was close enough to stand next to his wife and Quinn was not. But what gives him pause is Maevry did not smile in the holo.

His wife smiled a great deal when she was happy; it’s how she’s always been. Like other Sith, she never hid her more positive emotions, wearing them out in the open for anyone to see. Quinn sees no emotion on her face in the holo and he can’t help but wonder what that means.

He wonders if he’ll ever have the chance to find out.

#

Months pass.

Six days a week, Quinn commutes to the Citadel. There he advises the Empress to the best of his ability. But it all comes down to the Alliance, and searching for an opening. He commissions a small mobile team to search for Senya Tirall and the former Emperor, thinking if the Empire can locate them before the Alliance, there would be no more perfect way for the Imperial Empire to prove themselves.

And he scours over the reports Imperial agents send back from Odessen. Quinn learns his wife works sixteen hours a day and hardly ever indulges in any sort of relaxation. She’s rarely seen in the cantina. Any time she is spends off duty is in her own room, alone.

This news concerns Quinn. This is not the woman he knows. Even during some of their most stressful campaigns, she always found time to rest and to try to enjoy herself. More than once she coerced him to going to a cantina even on nights when there were far more productive ways to spend his time. He always played the part of the suffering martyr for her, which made his final acquiesce that much sweeter to them both.

This might not be the woman he knows, but this is also a woman who believes her husband is missing, yet stills sends an encrypted message on the first of every month. Quinn can’t help but wonder if one caused the other.

Life begins to feel like it did on Balmorra. Colorless. Bland. Quinn’s desperate to reach out to his wife, yet he dares not to. If he does, he has no idea how she will react, and the thought of her telling him she no longer loves him will crush him. No, best to stay hidden, to do what he can behind the scenes, to find a way to make the Alliance want to partner with the Imperial Empire. Then he will never have hear those words. But he will never see her again, either, if that is the case.

“You know, Major, when I had you named as my adviser, I assumed you would want to be in contact with your wife,” Acina says as she sits at her desk.

It’s a running joke with the Empress now, how Quinn hasn’t spoken with his wife. Acina seems to take pleasure in taunting him about the fact. Quinn doesn’t bother to look up from the holopad he’s reading, knowing that his non-response is expected. He will accept her taunts and snide remarks because it is no more than he deserves. He never thought of himself as a coward, but that’s exactly what he’s become.

“Perhaps I will order you some day,” Acina says.

Quinn does look up at that. He hasn’t even considered that possibility, and the thought causes his stomach to clench. Acina is not cruel, per say - he does think she has the Empire’s best interest at heart - but she is _Sith._ And most Sith tend to enjoy the discomfort in others.

Even his wife had her own quirks in regards to that. One of her favorite ways to relax was to get into fights over her various anonymous social media accounts. Every time someone blocked her account, she considered it a victory. He never quite understood the thrill she found, but then again, she never understood just how relaxing it was to double check census reports.

He doesn’t know what he will do if Acina orders him to contact his wife. On one hand, it will solve any uncertainty, force him to reach out. But on the other, how shameful will it be to admit to Maevry he only speaks because of an order? “If the Empress commands,” Quinn says, trying to keep his voice level and quite certain he fails.

“Not today, I think,” Acina says, picking up a holopad. “But some day.”

Quinn ignores the shiver in his spine, instead blaming it on the nearby open window. An message comes up from one of the Imperial Empire’s spies and he reads it at once. As he digests the message, he realizes that the Empire’s chance has finally arrived. “Empress,” he says, standing up. He brings over the holopad to Acina. “The moment we’ve been waiting for. The commander of the Alliance, along with most of their fleet heads to Voss.”

_One of your own plots to betray you_ _…_

The words hit him right in the chest, leaving him almost breathless, as he remembers how he stood next to Maevry as Magda-Ru gave her his idea of a bloody gift. That night was one of the longest in his life. They stayed up late, huddled in their quarters, while she attempted to figure out the meaning and he tried not to give himself away, the calculations for the droids already secure in his holopad.

“Voss?” Acina says, wrinkling her brow.

“We have another report that the Eternal Empire is already there, trying to lay waste to the planet. If we commit a significant number of resources, the Imperial Empire can help repel the attack, thus proving ourselves to the Alliance,” Quinn says, placing the holopad in front of the Empress.

He’s not ready. He’s not ready to see Maevry, to have her judge and find him wanting. At least in this state, their relationship isn’t officially over. Surely that’s better than the alternative? But if he can forge this partnership between Imperial Empire and Alliance, it will be a step towards redemption, certainly.

Acina stands, her eyes lighting up. “Quinn, speak to Moff Jaxon and have them prepare our best ships. He’ll lead the attack while you stay on Dromund Kaas to coordinate. I’m not ready to have your presence be known to the Alliance commander,” she says, picking up several holopads, while another assistant grabs her cloak.

Only a few minutes pass before Quinn is left in her office alone.

Over the next two days, he works tirelessly, not even heading to back to his studio, instead making do with the officer barracks in the Sith Intelligence Wing of the Citadel. Far more convenient to be close by in case his services are needed.

On the start of the third day, he learns that the gambit worked. Quinn lets himself feel smug for a moment, at least until he’s told that senior members of the Alliance, including Maevry, are on their way to Dromund Kaas.

The knowledge is practically his undoing. She will be here. On Dromund Kaas. Most likely in this very office. Surely Acina will want her military advisers in the meeting. Quinn pictures telling Maevry that it was _his_ strategy that won the day. But then he pictures telling Maevry why he never responded to all of those messages and just exactly where he was over these past six years. 

She will be here in two days and Quinn’s never been more unsettled in his life.

#

_Six years, five months and three days._

Quinn waits in the lobby of Acina’s Citadel wing, back in a corner, where he cannot be seen unless he chooses to reveal himself. And he will, he’s decided. He will simply walk up to her and say in a quiet voice, _my lord._   In private, ideally. The last thing he wants to do is cause a scene. And after her meeting with Acina, of course. The fate of the galaxy must come first.

A murmur arises in the lobby and Quinn overhears that Maevry is on her way up to the lobby. His breathing is irregular, enough so he forces himself to breath deeply and evenly. He’s about to see his wife for the first time in six years, five months and three days. He’s about to breath the same air…

The lift doors open and there she is, chin high, looking like she’s never left Dromund Kaas. Maevry’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life and his heart aches at the sight of her. Gone are the simple Sith robes she used to wear, replaced by an armored jacket and tight leather trousers. It’s quite a different look than he remembers, but leathers are practical and surely she’s lined the jacket-

He forces himself to stop thinking about the practicalities of her outfit, and instead simply appreciate how it looks. How _she_ looks. Still so young and vibrant…

How she could ever love a middle-age man like himself?

The words settle over him, bringing him down like an anchor. Any thoughts of revealing himself to her disappear in a wave of self-hatred and regret. The longing he has of her coils in his stomach and Quinn wonders if he will ever be able to get over her. Because she deserves so much more than him. So much more.

Quinn watches her until she’s out of sight, wishing he could follow, yet knowing he cannot. An alert distracts him, Moff Jaxon informing the team that the Empress has decided to hold the meeting on her shuttle instead of her office. He doesn’t quite understand the decision, but it’s not his place to understand the wishes of the Empress.

Everything hinges on this meeting. Until he knows what is said, there are no reports to write, not memos to read. Quinn wonders if he should go to Acina’s office. Perhaps she and Maevy will convene there after the shuttle ride. Best not to be there, just in case. The military office will have to do for now.

A thought crosses his mind, whether Acina might reveal his presence to Maevry, as a way to seal the partnership. Surely not. Maevry might not appreciate being told in such a manner. She doesn’t like surprises, not in the least. Quinn decides Acina will not take the risk.

At least he hopes she does not.

#

“Major!” Minister Lorman says as he barges through the military office doors. “I come baring tragic news.”

Quinn looks up from his holopad and furrows his brow. Surely the talks cannot be over already, unless Maevry’s changed far more than he thought. He starts racking his brain, trying to figure out what must have gone wrong, why this meeting didn’t end in a partnership like he predicted. “The talks failed, then?” he asks. He was so certain…

“Worse. Far worse,” Lorman says, placing a hand over his heart. “The Empress and the Commander of the Alliance are dead.”

That is the moment Quinn’s universe falls apart.

Quinn stares down at the table where he works and tries to remember to breathe. His wife cannot be dead. She _cannot_. Not again. “How?” he asks quietly, not looking up, not looking at anything.

“A shuttle crash, such a horrible thing. I cannot believe…” Lorman trails off for a moment. “The Commander of the Alliance, I cannot believe I forgot, she was your wife, was she not?”

There is a barely concealed malice in Lorman’s voice. Quinn served with the man years ago, back under Moff Brysc’s commander. He found him to be petty and vindictive and the years have not changed that assessment. “That is correct,” Quinn says, somehow managing to keep his voice from shaking. Lorman is sure to be looking for any sign of weakness. Quinn refuses to provide one. He looks up, meeting Lorman’s gaze. “Thank you for the information. Best I bring this to Moff Jaxon’s attention.”

Lorman clearly looks disappointed but turns on his heel without another word. Quinn slumps in his chair, grateful that he is the only person in the office at the moment. There must be a mistake. Maevry cannot be dead. Perhaps, with the storm, communication is simply acting up. Perhaps he’ll be told it is all a misunderstanding, and he can breathe again.

Standing on slightly shaky legs, Quinn walks to the balcony doors. He opens them, feeling the brisk chill of the storm outside. The balcony is small, just large enough for two people, so he can easily see the depths below. One quick jump of the railing and he could join Maevry in the Force.

He pushes the dark thoughts away as quickly as he can. They don’t go away completely, always at the back of his mind, like an itch waiting to be scratched, but Quinn decides there are so many better ways to deal with this loss. It’s not as if he doesn’t have practice in mourning for his wife.

She wanted a partnership with the Imperial Empire. Quinn will do his best to ensure that happens. He will honor her legacy of as the Alliance Commander every day for the rest of the his life.

The rain and the wind leave him cold, borderline numb, which he welcomes. If possible, Quinn decides he rather would not feel anything ever again.

With one last look outside, wondering if they’ll even be able to find enough of her body to cremate for the ceremony, Quinn walks inside. Work. He needs to work.

#

If Lorman wasn’t already a prisoner of the Imperial Empire, Quinn would kill the bastard himself. But it doesn’t matter, not really. Not when Maevry is actually alive. Alive, but already on her way back to Odessen. His chance to see her in person is gone; she never came back to the Citadel, instead having an Alliance shuttle pick her up in the jungle.

Quinn tries to figure out what Lorman wanted to accomplish. With Acina dead, surely some other Sith would have come to claim the title of Emperor or Empress? No Sith would ever allow a civilian to rule them. Well, Lorman will have a long time to think about his motivation in prison. Quinn shouldn’t be surprised that Maevry let Lorman live. It’s what she does. It's why Quinn's alive, after all.

The Empress is due back in her office any moment. This is not the time to debate Maevry’s strengths and weaknesses. It’s true, he did not expect to be allowed to live all those years ago on the Transponder Station. But over time, Quinn realized her mercy, while very un-Sith like, could be a boon. It did not make her weak. She’s proven her strength over and over to the entire galaxy.

This is the third time she’s come back from the dead. Plenty strong for anyone.

The door to the office opens and Quinn stands up from his workstation, knowing it to be the Empress. It’s always the little marks of respect the Sith never seem to notice. At least, they never notice until they’re no longer apparent.

The Empress raises a brow when their eyes meet. “Well, well, well,” she says as she unclasps the fastening of her cloak. It takes Quinn a half a dozen steps, but he’s there so she can hand the cloak to him instead of hanging it herself. “I must admit I’m surprised to see you here. I half expected you to chase after the Outlander.”

As he carefully hangs the cloak on a hook, Quinn considers his reply. Emotionally, he is still reeling. To see his wife again, to thinking he lost her, to learning just how much of a bloody coward he is, leaves him with raw edges. Edges Acina will easily find and exploit if he reveals them even for a moment.

“With so much chaos, Empress, I decided this would not be the right time,” Quinn says, being careful to leave his voice emotionless. Will he ever have another chance? Does he want one? How can he confess one day that he had been close enough to see her face without revealing himself to her? He wonders if she will ever forgive him if she finds out.

“Chaos,” Acina says. “That’s one way to put it.” The Empress walks to her desk, where Quinn has several holopads waiting for her, full of suggestions on how to best make use of this partnership with the Alliance. Acina sits down, leaning back in her chair. “You know, Major, I spent a great deal of time with the Commander in the jungle. She’s quite a lovely woman, isn’t she? Amazed that she lived through her apprenticeship, though.”

“Her more gentle qualities, while genuine, are quite deceptive,” Quinn says, thinking of the very few times she truly unleashed the dark side of the Force in his presence. Each time left him practically breathless, and certain just how powerful she could be. “It is not advised to underestimate her.”

Acina tilts her head. “Noted.” She rested splayed fingers on her stomach, a smile on her face, leaving Quinn to feel like a wompa rat in a trap. “At one point in our adventure, the Commander took off her gloves. She wore a lovely silver band on the fourth finger of her left hand. Looked like there was an inscription of some sort. I asked her what it said, but she would not tell me.”

Quinn breath threatens to leave him. She still wears her wedding band. It must be a sign, but of what. Could she possibly consider herself still married, even though she has no idea where he is? Is she in mourning? Does she wish to see him, have him in her life? His thoughts are jumbled and it seems impossible to concentrate on the task at hand. But he must. He _must._

“It’s simply the design of the ring, Empress,” Quinn says, his throat feeling like it will close in on him. He has a matching band, safe in a deposit box in a vault below Kaas City. One of the first things he did once released from prison was to check that deposit box, which held all his and Maevry’s important papers. Thankfully, no one bothered to confiscate the box during his incarceration. “If I recall correctly, she thought it pleasing to the eye. I had no objections, so we choose those.”

Acina looks disappointed, as if someone has taken her favorite toy away. “Ah, well that makes me feel foolish. I could have sworn it was something written in the Sith language.”

Perhaps he’ll go to the vault tomorrow and pick up the ring. It might be nice to have it close by instead of deep underground. That’s when a potentially dangerous thought injects itself into his mind. “Empress, if she discovers the truth, she will not appreciate that you withheld information from her, that you did not tell her that her husband is alive.”

Maevry, unlike so many other Sith, is not vengeful. However, she does not forget. With her, that sometimes can be worse. If she learns that he is alive, Quinn worries that Acina will fall in Maevry’s eyes. Perhaps even might be less inclined to trust the Empress, or worse, the Empire. Maevry always did have a blind spot when it came to him.

“I’ll deal with that if need be,” Acina says, sitting up straight in her chair. “Such as if you are ever brave enough to reveal yourself to her.”

Quinn swallows, knowing it might be a very long time, then.

#

Word of Vaylin’s death reaches Dromund Kaas quickly. It’s hard to believe that she’s dead, that a woman so bent on destroying the galaxy in some sort of revenge fantasy has finally been killed. Quinn’s glad of it, to be honest. Means there is one less person in this galaxy trying to kill his wife.

He also receives word that Vette was killed in the attack on Odessen. He heard the Twi’lek joined the Alliance, along with Pierce. Even Broonmark was found, though the intelligence Quinn read said that Maevry killed the beast on Alderaan. Understandably so. She never liked him. There’s no sign of Jaesa, which surprises Quinn. The young Sith has always been weak, always looking for guidance. The fact that the young woman hasn’t made it to Odessen to find Maevry is not a good sign.

But then again, Quinn also hasn’t gone to Odessen. Not a day goes by when he doesn’t think about it. Doesn’t think how easy it would be to commender a shuttle and fly out to Wild Space. Yet he remains rooted to Kaas City, as if he has no choice but to stay and wither away slowly.

These are the thoughts in his head as he takes his morning walk towards the transport station. It’s a gloomy day, like most in Kaas City, overcast without any chance of the sun peeking through to brighten up the day. Bleakly, Quinn decides the city is a metaphor of his life.

That’s when the ground quakes.

There are screams, and Quinn immediately has his hand on his blaster, looking for the culprit. He looks up and sees one of the ships from the Eternal Fleet. Here. On Kaas City.

It makes no bloody _sense._

Valyin is dead. No one is giving the fleet any orders right now. Why in the world would the Fleet attack the Empire? Quinn decides that’s a question for another day as a group of Skytroopers land on the ground, slowly walking towards the transport station. A large number of civilians are screaming, all running around. Someone needs to take charge, figure out how best to handle this. He’s a major in the Imperial Army. It will have to be him.

“Unarmed civilians, get underground to the transport station!” Quinn yells as loud as he can. “Anyone else, if you’re armed, form up by me!”

At least four other officers are at his side in moments, all with a lower rank. That will help avoid confusion, Quinn decides. A number of civilians join the ranks, even one young woman who looks only to be in her teens. She has a glint in her eye, one that reminds him so much of Maevry, he needs to look away.

“Line up, behind these benches but close enough so these machines can’t get past us. We’re the only thing keeping them from the civilians,” Quinn says, his voice slightly hoarse from the earlier shouting. He quickly checks the barrel, makes sure he has another within easy reach. While he’s been to a shooting range several times since his release from prison, this will be the first actual fight he’s participated in since Ziost.

_Ziost._

He pushes away the memories, pushes away the thought of Maevry’s face on the the orbital station, how she said she could feel every single one of those people on Ziost die. Pushes away the memory of holding her in his arms as she choked back sobs once they finally made it to their quarters. And only two weeks later, she was prisoner of Zakuul.

Every single thought of that failure, of Ziost will deter him if he lets it. There are Imperial citizens who trust the army to do their duty and keep them safe. Quinn has let so many people down in this life of his, he will not allow it to happen again.

He pushes Ziost to the side, clamping it down in a box in his mind, locking it up tight. Then there is only one thing left to do.

“Fire!” he shouts, aiming his weapon.

His hastily made militia quickly springs into action, and Quinn wonders how many others are fighting across Kaas City right at this very moment. Not only do they have to deal with the bloody Skytroopers, the Fleet ship also seems to take random pot shots, destroying buildings and property with one quick shot. There will be billions of credits of damage, just from this fight alone. And if they continue to press the attack, he doesn’t even want to think of the end result.

As he starts to fire, out of the corner of his eye, he sees fighters starting attack the Fleet ship. No doubt the Destroyer high above the Citadel will be working, too. Hopefully it can take out a few ships. Quinn briefly thinks of Maevry, wondering if she’s alright, if the Fleet is attacking Odessen just like Dromund Kaas. But just like Ziost, he pushes the thought of her away, instead concentrating on the fight.

A skytrooper breaks through their thin barricade and Quinn finds himself in close-quarter combat. After only a few moves, he’s out of breath, the reality of age overcoming him quickly. Even all the hours upon hours he’s spent in the gym, trying to increase his stamina, don’t prepare him for this fight. Thankfully, he’s not the only fighter. The young woman he noticed earlier, jumps on the skytroopers back, plunging a vibroknife into the droid’s head. She jumps off right before the droid collapses to the ground.

“There’s a place for you in the Imperial Army,” Quinn says quickly as way thanks.

“Keep your army,” the woman says with a savage grin. “Already enlisted in the navy. Shipping out next week.”

“The army’s loss,” Quinn says, as he gets down on one knee, lining up his next shot. Their barricade won’t hold much longer and the droids keep coming. Well, if he is to die, this is how he would choose to go: defending the people of the Imperial Empire. If only he could see Maevry one last time…

And then the droids stop.

Quinn doesn’t stop shooting. Even if they stop for a moment, that doesn’t mean they won’t turn back on any second now. The rest of his militia does the same, until every droid is no longer a threat. Then without warning, Maevry appears on the emergency holocom system.

She speaks and says the danger is past. That she is now in control of the Eternal Throne. The words she chooses sound more like the Republic than the Empire and Quinn does not like what he hears. This new Eternal Alliance will be looked at with suspicion, no doubt. But his wife is alive, and safe. And he hopes, more than ever, they still share the same goals: to protect the Empire. If she needs to do what she feels is her duty leading the Alliance, he will support her.

From the shadows.

#

Quinn watches the celebration gala for the beginning of the Eternal Alliance in his small studio. The feed is sophisticated enough where he can choose to follow one person, and the feed will always try to keep them in sight. He chooses Maevry, of course.

She looks absolutely stunning tonight, wearing an off-the-shoulder evening gown in a dark purple. A mixture of both Imperial Empire and Republic colors. Exactly the color he would have recommended himself, if he were there. But he is not. She wears no evening gloves with the outfit and he catches glimpse of her wedding band, taunting him.

While she might look exquisite, Quinn catches a slight frown when she thinks no one watches her. He sees the tension in her shoulders, how she’s not holding herself up as straight as she normally does. In short, he knows that his wife is not happy. He wonders if it is the responsibility, the party - she never liked large gatherings - or perhaps it is because she is now one of the most important people in the galaxy and she has no idea where her husband is. But perhaps that’s flattering himself.

Truth be told, he’s surprised the Alliance hasn’t found him yet. The Empress ordered his official records to still list him as MIA, but he lives and works in Kaas City. If the Alliance had any agents in the city worth their salt, they should have discovered his presence. That’s when the thought crosses his mind - perhaps they have. Perhaps she knows exactly where he is and chooses to do nothing. He has yet to receive an encrypted message yet this month on his holofrequency. The first time she hasn’t sent a message. Quinn doesn’t know whether or not to be relieved or saddened that Maevry might have finally given up on him.

A burst of applause is heard through the livefeed and Quinn checks his holopad. The former Emperor of Zakuul, Arcann, outstretches his good hand towards Maevry. She accepts, and the two of them walk onto the dance floor, with more than an estimated ten billion people watching throughout the galaxy.

Arcann places one hand on Maevry’s waist and Quinn feels a sick sort of jealously settle in his gut. He’s always disliked Arcann, ever since the invasion of Korriban, but his dislike has morphed into an irrational hatred.

They start to dance, the song only moderately slow, and Quinn finds himself transfixed. Maevry might be an artist when she fights, but as a dancer, she’s sub-par, with no real sense of timing. He attempted to teach her over the years, and the memories of those lessons - full of laughter and almost always ending in bed - are some of his most precious ones of their relationship.

To watch this, to watch Arcann of all people dance with his wife, is almost too much too bare. With an angry swipe, Quinn turns off the livefeed and stands up. He needs some air. A drink. Something to keep his mind off what a bloody coward he is.

It should be _him_ dancing with Maevry for the entire galaxy to see. He wrote her once, during her capture, that he should have taken his rightful place by her side on Darth Marr’s flagship. Quinn meant those words. At least he did when he wrote them. Because look at him now, on the sidelines again, because he does not have the fortitude to reach out to her. Then it would be Quinn dancing with Maevry, showing the entire galaxy that the Eternal Alliance would protect the Imperial Empire.

Instead he is alone in his apartment, without even the courage to stop watching. Quinn turns the livefeed back on, and watches the remainder of the dance, his thoughts torturing him the entire time. This is exactly what he deserves, to be on the outside, without any chance of stepping in.

#

“Empress, might I ask why we are sneaking behind the Alliance’s back like this?” Quinn asks, settling into a parade rest.

They’re on Iokath, the first time he has been outside of Imperial space in more than six and a half years. He forgot how thrilling space travel is, how orderly a well run ship can be. The _Fury_ crosses his mind and Quinn wonders what became off that old ship. Hopefully it’s not scrap in some Imperial shipyard. The thought of that saddens him a great deal.

He’s not sure what to think of the strange encrypted message the Empress received. Quinn advised caution, like always, but the Empress seems determined to forge ahead, to claim this promised superweapon for the Empire. “I ask, because I’m sure the Alliance would be interested in sharing this technology. If we reached out-”

“And let them use it on the Empire?” Acina says with a scoff. Her eyes flashed and for a moment the dark side of the Force overwhelms the tent used as a base, sending a shiver down Quinn’s side.

“The Commander of the Alliance was a loyal citizen of the Empire once,” Quinn says, hearing a heat in his voice. “She would never attack the Empire like that. I am sure of it.”

“And _I_ am sure you can’t look at this situation objectively,” Acina says with a wave of her hand. “No, we will find this weapon and it will give us the leverage we need to bring the Republic and eventually the Alliance under our heel.”

Quinn lowers his chin, his stomach clenching. Perhaps this has been the plan all along. She tolerated his talk of alliances and partnerships all so she could take whatever knowledge about Maevry he was willing to provide. Once again, he finds himself being used as a pawn between two Sith. It is not a welcome remembrance.

Jaxon all but sprints into the tent. “Empress, the Commander, the Alliance, they’re here on the planet. The Republic, too.”

“What?” Acina says, her voice angry. Years of dealing with Sith causes Quinn to clench his teeth, wait for her to lash out. Even after being with Maevry and her gentler ways can’t cure him of this basic survival instinct. “How is that possible?”

“I’ve no idea,” Jaxon says, sounding bewildered as Quinn. Surely one of their agents on Odessen should have let them know of this development.

As Acina walks to the open doorway of the tent, Quinn tries not to think of Maevry. Tries not to think that yet, once again, they are on the same planet. His breathing quickens as he tries to push thoughts of her away to focus on the task at hand. Already, he knows it is a lost cause. He will be forever compromised when it comes when it comes to his wife. Instead of wallowing in his own self-hated, he says to Jaxon, “We need to figure out a plan to ensue we secure the weapon before the Republic.”

“No,” Acina says, turning around to face them. There is a heedy look in her eye. As a slow smile crosses her face, she says, “What we need is not a plan. But a distraction.” Her gaze focuses on him and Quinn thinks he will be ill. Not like this. It cannot be like this. “A message, telling the Alliance we want to work with them to keep the weapon away from the Republic. And just as it happens, we have the perfect messenger.”

“Empress,” Quinn says far more tentatively than he likes. He must think of something, anything, to convince Acina this is a foolhardy path. He cannot be instrument to the Empire’s betrayal of his wife. He simply will not. “The Commander of the Alliance will work with you, but I doubt she will appreciate if-”

“Do not make me repeat myself, Major,” Acina says. There is danger lacing her voice and it promises pain and death for those who disobey her. Yet that would be preferable to betraying Maevry again. “I told you once that  I would command you to reveal yourself to her. That time is now.”

After dealing with Sith in the army for close to thirty years, Quinn is aware that if he defies her command, he is dead. It’s a simple statement of fact. He is also aware that he does not want to die. Not today, not when he is on the same planet as his wife. What a story that would be for Maevry Hearing that he was killed because he refused to follow the order of meeting her in person. He cannot do that to her. Not when he still loves her so very much.

“As much the Empress commands,” Quinn says, tasting dust on his tongue. He should be excited at the thought of seeing his wife again. Yet here he is, practically quaking in his boots. “Do you have a message for me to give?”

Acina grabs a holopad from a field desk and starts to type. A minute later, she hands him the pad. “Give her this.”

The pad feels like an anchor in his hand. He consults with Jaxon, finds out where the Alliance camp is, then with a crisp salute, leaves the tent.

Each step takes him close to his wife. He tries to picture their reunion, but finds he cannot. Quinn is under no illusions. One of the reasons he has not reached out because he simply cannot bear the thought of her rejecting him. But how can she not? He’s been free from prison for eight months and has yet to respond to any of her messages. Has yet to give her one indication that he is alive and still loving her.

And he does love her, he knows. Quinn loves her so much that it hurts, it’s a persistent ache, the type he worried about all those years ago when he asked to be transferred from her service. Perhaps he should have insisted on leaving her service, but it is far too late now. He will be entangled with Maevry for the rest of his life, and now that he will be seeing her again…

Once, Quinn tried to serve two masters, tried to please both Baras and Maevry, convinced if he just worked hard enough, he would be able to keep both in check. He thinks back to the utter surprise on Maevry’s face when he appeared on the Transponder Station. If he tries the same thing here, if he tries to serve both Empire and his wife, it will kill him. He’s never been so sure of anything in his life.    

A certain sort of clarity settles over him. Any allegiance he feels to the Imperial Empire wanes compared to the loyalty he feels towards his wife. Quinn belongs at Maevry’s side, in any capacity she will have him. He will not presume she’ll resume their relationship - why would she? - but it doesn’t matter. She is his wife, and he will serve her however he can. For as long as he can.

He reaches the Alliance camp check point and his heart is ready to beat out of his chest. They lead him to a tent where a Republic soldier waits, and Quinn realizes his task will be that much more difficult. The holopad rests in his hand. If he can broker an agreement between Empire and Alliance, all the better. If not? Well, for once in Quinn’s life, he’s absolutely certain where his loyalties lie. And maybe, if the stars align just right, he’ll find his wife’s loyalty is not just to the Alliance and the Empire, but also still to him.

Quinn can only dare hope.


End file.
